


Viper

by McNaBir



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Choking, M/M, No i do not, Oral Sex, Pickman/OC - Freeform, Rough Sex, Smut, do i have shame?, not rly the sole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 09:36:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12430017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McNaBir/pseuds/McNaBir
Summary: Ever since rescuing Pickman from a horde of rival raiders, Overboss Hawk realizes he's found someone just like him: a Killer.





	Viper

**Author's Note:**

> Hawk isn't my Sole Survivor. He's an extra character I have, former Courser of the Institute who decided to become too conscious of his being. He's now the Overboss of Nuka-World, after shooting Colter in the face with a shotgun...repeatedly.

He was a snake, tasting the blood in the air, his thin lips curled in humorless joy. Those pale silver eyes of his so hypnotic, drawing you close, luring you with a false sense of security until he could strike with his fangs extended. You had no hope once the venom entered your bloodstream; you were already dead.

A ruthless killer with no remorse.

Just like Hawk.

In the year he'd been out in the Commonwealth, running from the Institute, he'd never met a single person who saw him for what he truly was.  
Never, until he met Pickman.

Hawk folded the piece of paper away, tucking it into his suit next to the small book of animals he kept there. He knew it was foolish, going after this man--this _snake_ , but he couldn't deny his morbid curiosity and attraction to him. He felt like a mouse being hypnotized by those cold gray eyes.

Except, he wasn't a mouse. He was a predator, just like Pickman.

He eyed the blood splatter across ground, leading down a narrow alleyway and down a short flight of stairs to a door.

_You'll know how to find me, Killer._

Hawk opened the door and went inside the dimly lit basement, the reek of fresh blood washing over him. Bodies littered the floor, several of them without their heads, and all with their throats slit wide open. Strange, morbid paintings scattered the walls in red and yellow, different from the ones in the old gallery. They were new, fresh.

He stepped around the bodies, making his way to the back of the basement and going up some more stairs into a tucked away home. It was surprisingly neat and organized, cleaned as much as the tattered walls and furniture could be cleaned. It was nice, even nicer than his own quarters at the Grille in Nuka-World.

A noise nearby had his hand twitching for the knife on his belt, but he relaxed when Pickman came out of a side room, his suit and tie gone, only his off-white button down left. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he was busy drying his hands with a blood-stained towel. He paused, blinking at the man before him, then his mouth broke into a soft grin, like he knew very well that Hawk would show up eventually. He knew he couldn't resist.

"What a pleasent surprise. It hasn't even been a week, Killer," he mused, voice soft. It was almost emotionless, just lightly touched with a slight inflection that made your skin crawl.

Hawk turned to face him, his expression unreadable behind his reflective aviators. A chill ran up his spine, but strangely he enjoyed the feeling, like a cold winter breeze across his skin.

"I can be impatient," he said, watching the man step around him, almost too close. He went to a nearby counter bordering the open kitchen, and set the towel down on it.

Pickman hummed in his throat, pulling a cool drink from the fridge and taking a long draught from it before putting it back, a drop of water rolling down his chin. He thumbed it away.

"Shame. I like taking my time with things."

Hawk couldn't hope to look away from him even if he wanted to. Those viper eyes of his toying across his body before frowning somewhat, disappointed with what he saw. Whatever it was, it made the synth want to squirm, but he didn't of course. He stood rigid, muscles taught and ready for anything.

"I've noticed," he gestured stiffly to the meticulously cleaned room. "Pickman, I didn't come here to speak of habits. I came to ask you something."

Pickman raised a dark brow, his signature calm smile returning as he walked back over to his play-thing. "Ask away, Killer," he said fondly, and grinned wider as he noticed a small tremor ripple through him.

"I want you to join my organization at Nuka-World. You can continue your work, as long as you do not harm any of my associates," Hawk said tightly, trying to sound as friendly and as casual as possible. It was almost as difficult as killing a deathclaw. Actually, killing a deathclaw was easier. Much easier.

He tilted his head ever so slightly.

"Oh? May I ask why?"

"I feel it would benefit the both of us. You can kill rival raiders, and I would have a powerful asset."

Pickman seemed to consider that for a moment, lightly touching the front of Hawk's armor as if he were inspecting it with idle indifference.

"I will consider it, if you do something for me," he said coyly.

Hawk knew this was dangerous. But it was that exact danger that excited him. His heart hammered in his ribs, which it rarely did. It was an entirely alien feeling, just as the heat that washed over his body was new, also.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, watching that hand begin to tug at his armor.

"I want you to strip yourself," Pickman breathed in his ear.

His breath hitched slightly, and that heat all over him began pooling between his legs, making his pants feel strangely tight. He'd never done anything like this before. Never met someone that would even want to, their frail personalities too fragile to understand the truth of what he was. Some got close to him, but soon they realized he was just a deadly killer, a hawk that wrenched the life of his helpless victims.

But Pickman was entirely different, and the same. He smelled the death on him, unafraid, and not ashamed to show that he was also a killer that treated life like a scrap of paper to be burned in a fire pit. Useless, meaningless. He wasn't afraid of him, no, he found it endearing that he was able to find someone who was just like him.

 

The last piece of Hawk's armor fell with a metallic clank onto the floor, and almost instantly Pickman began tugging at the front of his dark checked suit. It was almost needy, how he breathed and began slipping the fabric down over his shoulders.

The book and scrap of paper clattered to the floor, catching his attention. He bent down and took up the book, arching a brow and smirking playfully.

"You keep a child's book with you?"

Hawk took it from him, carefully folding it up in his suit and setting them on the nightstand next to the bed. He didn't allow people to know of the book's existence, save for one or two of his most trusted... Allies? _Friends?_ It was his, no one else's.

"Yes. I find it...fascinating," he muttered, heat radiating on the back of his neck and ears.

"Mm. Cute," the man mused, facing him again and slipping him out of his button-down.

Pickman paused, his face suddenly going very neutral when he saw the hundreds of shapeless scars across the synth's bronzed skin. He unconsciously traced one along his ribs, a pink puffy one that stood out sharply against the others. It was newer, fresher than the older ones around it.

"What--"

"Don't ask," Hawk interrupted. He didn't want to explain the scars, the torture that had befallen him under the control of the Institute. That was behind him now, he wasn't going to bring it up. Not now.

The man eyed him for a moment, then turned him toward the bed, pushing him down on it until his back his the headboard.

Pickman took his time undoing the leather belt, unbuttoning and pulling down the zipper on his pants. Hawk just watched him as he slipped off his pants and threw them on the floor, the tightness gone. He drew in a deep breath as a cold hand palmed him through his boxers.

"You haven't done this before, have you?" Pickman asked, thoroughly amused.

Was it that obvious?

That annoying heat flooded over his face again.

"No," Hawk conceded.

"I figured. You're tense." He ran his free hand down his thigh, along the rippling muscles there, tutting at how stony they were.

With one deft motion, he hooked his fingers into the lip of his boxers and brought them down past his ankles, leaving the synth as bare as the day he was made. Nakedness didn't bother him in the least, but this was different. This was intimate.

Pickman stroked his already hard cock, grinning like a mad fool when he made a noise between a groan and a growl. He couldn't see his eyes passed the damned sunglasses, but he could tell his face was twisted up at the new sensation.

"Take the glasses off," he said, almost an order, but knowing well that Hawk wasn't one to take orders. It was just a nudge, a suggestion.

Hawk frowned. Though his body was completely lacking clothing, the thought of removing the shades filled him with thin anxiety. His eyes, his synth eyes, weren't for the faint of heart to look upon. Every aspect of him was human, except for his damned eyes. It would give him away, leave him exposed.

He took them off slowly, and Pickman savored another moment to study him. He didn't seem surprised or off-put by the rubber and the lenses, instead his smile returned and he continued to toy with him.

His hands were soft against him, stroking slowly, drawing heated groans from Hawk's throat, forcing him to forget about his eyes and focus on the man between his legs. Then, his tongue was curling and lapping over the head before he took his hard member into his mouth and sucked softly.

Hawk let out a low growl, bucking up his hips without thinking. He felt a hand grip his pelvis, pinning him to the bed as waves of pleasure wracked his body. The heat of his mouth and the soft rolling of his tongue was pushing him closer to...something. He sucked in a shallow breath, and found his hand knotted tightly in his dark brown hair, ruffling its usual obsessive neatness.

Then, Pickman pulled away, smirking wickedly at the mess he created of the man before him. He moved up to be face to face with him, and Hawk tried to level his breathing, finding it actually difficult. It didn't help when that snake kissed him delicately, like the flick of a forked tongue, filling him with his intoxicating venom.

Hawk let out a deep gasp when he felt hands on his rock-hard member again, and Pickman eagerly took that chance to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue into his mouth, feeling a feral rumble come from the synth. The roughness of his unshaven face felt strange on his skin, but it was still enjoyable. He ground his hips against the hand working him over, and again the man pulled away when he was so damned close, leaving him a gasping wreck.

Pickman grinned furtively, clearing enjoying the game. His smug face pissed Hawk off, and in a flash the snake was pinned under his talons, his hand pressed into his throat to keep him down. Even in his position, he was still grinning, still smug as Hell.

"I _don't_ like being toyed with," Killer growled, and the noise sent shivers through his spine. His hand pressed down on his throat harder, but not enough to cut off his breathing entirely, just enough to make him behave himself.

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself," Pickman cooed, cheeks flushing as he began to struggle for air. He didn't struggle, or fight, just laid back and let his Killer take control.  
Hawk growled and mashed his lips into his, sucking what little air he had out of his lungs. He was sick of that smugness.

His rough hands practically tore off his clothes then palmed his thick member, earning a choking gasp from him. When the noises were almost non-existent, he finally pulled his mouth away, letting his windpipe free.

Pickman sucked in a needy breath, panting hard.

Hawk didn't give him the satisfaction, and again pressed his hand down on his throat, savoring himself a dark smirk. He dug his nails into his thigh, and thrust into him hard. The heat around his cock made him let out a deep moan, and he didn't care that the viper's face was screwed up in sudden pain as he thrust in and out of him, taking entire control of him.

Pickman's breath hitched, feeling himself stretch uncomfortably to accommodate his Killer's girth. He wheezed, and took in a greedy breath when the hand shifted aside, his thumb still pressed into his carotid. He craned his head back, feeling teeth brush against his neck then latch down hard, leaving a dark bruise.

"You're mine," Hawk growled, grinding their hips as he thrust back into him. " _I'm_ the Boss."

Pickman gasped and moaned as his hot breath rolled over his neck and ear. He reached down and grasped himself, working his cock even harder as he felt his stomach tense up.  
"Say it," he snarled, which turned into a groan, picking up his pace as he neared his own climax.

"You're the Boss," Pickman gasped. Stars swam in his vision, his breathing shallow and strained, but _God_ it felt so damned _good_.

Hawk's thrusts became erratic and shallow, and he felt him tighten around him as the cord inside his belly snapped. He growled deeply into the crook of the snake's neck, letting himself go deep inside him. And Pickman had thrust himself back, milking him dry, his own dick spurting several hot streams of seed onto his abdomen. He panted, choking against the hand, a sleek sheen of sweat covering them both.

Hawk let him breathe again, pulling himself out of him, taking several deep breaths and blowing them against his skin, shockingly cold. He didn't know he could even do that, but dammit if he didn't love every single second of it. He pressed a soft kiss to the mark he left. Kind gestures were often lost on him, being that he was a former Courser and the Overboss of Nuka-World, but he felt it was appropriate to show that this had actually meant something to him. That it wasn't just a flippant fuck.

"So gentle, Killer," Pickman sighed, his face breaking into another smug grin.

Hawk rolled his eyes and half-glared down at him, brushing his fingers over his rough Adam's apple.

"Perhaps next time I'll be a little more rough, then?" he said sarcastically. Had he ever said anything sarcastically?

"Next time?" It wasn't really a question, just a mischievous statement pointing out just how much he knew Killer wanted this. He could read him like an open book.

Hawk snorted, standing to redress himself. He'd been gone from Nuka-World long enough, they'd be wondering where the Boss had run off to. Gage was probably going to be pissed, especially when he found out about what they'd done together.

It didn't matter. He didn't belong to Gage or _anyone_. He was the Overboss, the most dangerous man in the Commonwealth and beyond.

"Perhaps," he muttered slyly, fixing on his suit and tucking the book away inside.

Pickman watched him lazily, his cold gray eyes burning with the thought of another night with him. He hummed in his throat as the synth put his sunglasses back on and walked to the door, pausing for a second.

"Thanks, Killer," he mused softly.

Hawk stopped at a splash of bright blood that he must have tracked in earlier, and stooped down, dipping his fingers into it, a roguish smile playing at his normally stiff lips. As he began walking out, he smeared something into the wall with the crimson blood, then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not all that good at smut, but that's my best effort. Tell me what you guys thought, and I might write up another one.


End file.
